


It begins after the end

by bandykullan



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/M, au canon era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:49:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bandykullan/pseuds/bandykullan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two of the survivors meet up, maybe by chance, maybe by fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It begins after the end

**Author's Note:**

  * For [endofnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/endofnight/gifts).



> AU in that both are alive after the barricade fell. Inspiration is a mix from the novel and the 2012 film..

“The people didn’t really support you”, she said.

“I know”, was his short answer.

It was a hot August evening; none of them had planned to come here really. A more superstitious person might have thought that it was something more than just coincidence, but none of them really did. At least they didn’t acknowledge that there was something else drawing them to this street. Years of surviving in the gutter had made Éponine realize that in the end, the only thing that pushed you around were the people around you. Not fate, not God, no those didn’t exist, of that she was sure by now. On his side, Combeferre had been just a young boy when he had come to the conclusion that the world was ruled by laws and logic. Logic functioned without any input from some higher power, and rules were made and governed by man. Ideals and morals were all created by humankind, not anything supernatural. In the end that was probably what had put him on his road to revolution, knowing that if laws are made by man, then they can also be changed by man.

The sad thing was though that as long the people were more concerned with filling their empty stomachs, well then they wouldn’t dare to rise up and change the society itself; the society that kept them hungry.

“Maybe it was too much to hope for, that a hungry person would fight for anything else than the food that would keep him alive the next day”, it was a calm statement. The days, and sleepless nights, since June had given him much time to think about what had happened. To try and see their actions from all directions, to find that little mistake that led to the whole failure. In the end the answer was always the same.

“You can’t have a revolution without the people…” he said with a sad tone. The people hadn’t been there and now the revolution was as dead and buried as those people that had fallen on the barricades.

“Why are you so obsessed with wanting to help other people, anyway?” Éponine asked. She was really curious about that. Her family and background hadn’t really accustomed her to the thought of a person whose actions weren’t determined solely by the goal of achieving some, usually monetary, gain for himself. Sure she had been at the barricade as well, but not because she wanted to change the world. It had only been because of Monsieur Marius. Her almost dying for him hadn’t exactly changed anything in their relationship though.

“He never loved me”, it just slipped out of her. She just couldn't help talking to herself when it came to Marius. At least now she could say his name without feeling the physical pain of a broken heart. It had faded into a pang of sadness, a bitter sting, but not the aching despair it had been on that night in June. Something about being left at the barricade as a corpse had made her realize that Marius wasn’t the one who would change her life to something else. In fact she had gone almost a day without thinking about him, but standing here on the street of the barricade, the feelings came back to her. Strange how your perception can change though. She had gone to the barricade willing to die, as long as it was by his side. She had woken up without him, but still relieved to be alive.In the end it was someone else who had saved her that day.

“It was you who carried me away, I heard. I never thanked you for that”, she looked at Combeferre.

“I thought you were dead, I felt it was only the right thing to carry you away. What kind of medicine student would I be if I hadn’t noticed that you were still alive, and what kind of future doctor would I be if I didn’t try to save a person in front of me”, it sounded quite harsh when he said it, but his actions then had said more about his compassion, than the words he spoke today.

“I am happy, that you are alive, too many people died in June”, he murmured.

“May I look at your hand?” he asked and stepped a bit closer to her. Combeferre took her maimed hand in his. It was here that the musket had done the most harm, and it was evident that it would never fully function again. Two fingers had been lost, and the other seemed to be stuck in an odd angle. The damage, Combeferre realized, was not so much in the fingers themselves, but the nerves going into the wrist. Éponine did not mind anyone seeing her ugly hand; it was a long time ago since she had really felt embarrassed about her body, or rather what could be seen through the rags that she wore. Beauty was one of the first things that poverty had taken from her. Still it was nice feeling his gender touch against her fingers as he softly pressed against the scars and tried to move her fingers into another position. Her hand might be useless for doing something, but she hadn’t lost the feeling of it. She knew that it was pointless to try and put the fingers any other way; she had tried to do it herself many times. She didn’t say that to him though, but let him continue with his examination.

“I hope your hand doesn’t make it impossible for you to work”. Work? Éponine almost laughed at the question, but she silenced herself before any sounds escaped her lips. Nobody had ever offered her an honest work in her life, not matter how well her hand was functioning. You didn’t need two hands to go around begging and scraping by in Paris; in fact a crippled hand was almost a good thing. As much as she hated to beg for a living, her disfigured hand made people more willing to throw a sou or two her way.

Combeferre still held her hand in his. He had felt the scars, but also how thin her fingers were, and how cold the skin was, even though it was a warm summer night. He looked at her again, realizing that it was not only her fingers that were thin. Her whole body looked so fragile and pale, underneath the worn rags that she had on her. There were dark, brown patches on the fabric, patches that could only be dried blood. He had gotten rid of the bloodied clothes he had worn during the rebellion, but she still wore the same chemise as when he had carried her in his arms from the barricade.

“Where do you live now?” he asked, not that he had known where she lived before either.

“In Paris”, she answered, and now she couldn’t help laughing at the question. By now it had been many months since she stayed at the same place several nights in a row. It was summer though, so the nights were warm, and you could always find shelter against the rain. It would be different in the winter, but that was still far away, and something would always show up.

“You don’t really have a home, do you?” he asked again. “Why don’t you come with me, there are several of us staying in a small house, not too far away”

“I manage on my own”, she interrupted, quite irritated. She didn’t need anyone’s pity. She did well enough by herself.

“I’m not offering help; I’m offering you a place under a roof to sleep in. It’s crowded, several of us are sharing the space, and we don’t have enough beds so we are sleeping on the floor. You were there at the barricade as well; you shouldn’t be out on the street when the rest of us are living together”.

Éponine looked into Combeferre’s face. In it she saw something she had never seen before when a man looked at her. This was something new, the way he talked looked to her, as if she was his equal, not something he could use or abuse. If Éponine had recognized it she would have understood that he respected her.

Éponine hesitated at first when Combeferre started to walk away from the street, but only for a short while. He had offered her a place to sleep, but even more importantly, someone had offered her something out of respect for her. When they strolled through Paris, Éponine for the first time felt that she was treated as an equal. Maybe this was what it was like be among friends and companions, people that really cared for each other. Éponine was following him to a place to stay, but she was intrigued by this young man, who seemed to care so much. She glanced at him. Yes, he was quite handsome too, not beautiful, but there was something in him that she wouldn’t mind looking at for a while more.


End file.
